


Echo

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:25:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Does Jim hear Blair? Does Blair hear Jim?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Echo

## Echo

by Pink Dragon

I disclaim, declaim, exclaim, bitch, piss, moan, whine and pitch hissy fits, and they still aren't mine. 

Originally debuted in Come To Your Senses 21. I believe Dark Cherry may have betaed this. It's, like, been a while, you know? <g>

* * *

Echo 1.A nymph in Greek legend who pines away for love of Narcissus until nothing is left of her but her voice. 2.The repetition of a sound caused by reflection of sound waves, and the sound due to such reflection. 

* * *

Echo. That's me, the nymph pining for Narcissus. For weeks, now. And of course, Narcissus would be Blair. Except he's anything but narcissistic. He just hasn't heard me yet. So I'll amp up the sound waves till he does. And I start tonight. We've got all weekend off, and by Sunday night, he'll hear me loud and clear. And I just pray to God that the echo I get back is what I'm hoping for, cause Jim Ellison doesn't do things by half measure, and this just isn't something I can afford to be wrong about. I know I'm in love with him, and I think he's in love with me. And it's time to find out. 

Friday night: 

"Hey, Jim, it's 5:00 man. You coming?" Blair is antsy, ready to get out of the station. 

"I just want to finish up some of this, then I'll be ready," I answer. "Are you in a hurry? You didn't say anything about a date." He hasn't had a date in weeks. Since just about the time I realized I was in love with him. 

"No hurry Jim, just ready to get started on a nice, relaxing weekend." He's smiling at me, holding out my jacket, jingling the truck keys in front of my face. "Can't that wait till Monday? Simon's not even here today. He'll never know the difference." 

"You know, Chief? You're right." I grin at him. "Let's make like the wind and blow," I say, trying to be funny. I never know if he's gonna laugh or just look at me, shake his head, and snort. This time he laughs. 

"Blow, Jim, blow. I like the sound of that!" he says, chuckling softly. I'm thinking what the hell does he mean by that, but I can't see his face, he's already headed toward the elevator. Hmph. 

"What're we gonna do for dinner, Chief? It's Friday, you want to go out?" I ask. I've caught up to him by now. He's punched the button on the elevator and is waiting for the door to open. 

"Yeah, that sounds good. You want to go cheap or nice? I've even got money to pay for nice, now that I'm on payroll around here," he says, grinning at me. 

"Then let's go somewhere nice for a change," I say with a sigh. "Someplace without cardboard and Styrofoam and plastic. Something maybe with real linen, and china and silver, that won't make me sneeze from the chemicals. How's that sound?" We're getting on the elevator now, and I'm thinking to myself, someplace with soft music, and candles that'll make your eyes sparkle and your hair shine. 

He's looking at me, thoughtfully, and he nods. "Yeah, Jim, that'd be really nice." 

I sent out a sound, and I got back the echo I wanted. This just might work. 

He doesn't say anything else till we're in the truck and on the way home. "Hey, Jim? Tell me about the Styrofoam and the plastic. Do the chemicals really bother you? Can you taste it in the food, or smell it, or what?" He's half turned in the seat, looking at me, all serious. 

"Put your seatbelt on, Sandburg," I growl at him, but only a little. So he does. "Yeah, sometimes I can taste it in the food. Especially if it's something that's not real spicy. Like that moo goo gai pan crap you like. Nothing but vegetables. It doesn't mask the taste of the cardboard container it came in. That's why I like the Szechuan, even when it feels like it's blistering my tongue." I smile at the road, concentrating on driving, "At least it tastes like food." He's smiling at me now, and I can see the gears turning. I give him my 'don't mess with me' look and say "No tests this weekend, Einstein. Let's just relax, OK?" 

I expect him to argue about it, give me a little attitude, but he doesn't, he just leans back in the seat and smiles, says "Okay, man. No tests. Just relax and have a good time. Do you have anything special planned this weekend? Out with the guys? Hot date?" His heart rate has picked up a bit and it jolts me. He wants to be with me. I smile at him. 

"No, Chief, no plans. I kinda hoped we'd just hang out together," I say. He gives me a big grin and I feel like King Kong on top of the Empire State Building. Oh, yeah. 

"Cool, man, that'd be cool." And he sits, quietly, the rest of the way home. Quietly. Very odd. 

* * *

Eighteen minutes later we're home and I make Blair shower first, since he takes so long deciding what to wear. I can shower, shave, brush my teeth and get dressed in the amount of time it takes him to pick out the 'earring of the evening'. I can hear him in the shower while I'm tidying up in the kitchen. Soapy hands sliding over his wet skin. His fingers pull through his hair as he moves it around to get the water through it and the shampoo rinsed out. He's singing, softly. Blair has a great voice. Especially in the shower. "Oh, my love, I've hungered for your touch, a long, lonely time..." Oh, shit. I freeze, with one hand inside the trash can. And he keeps singing. And he knows all the words. And he knows I can hear him. But he can't be singing to me, it's just too fucking corny. So I take my hand out of the trash can and go back to tidying the kitchen. 

* * *

Twenty minutes later I'm showered and dressed and Blair finally is too. "Hey Chief, you clean up real nice," I say, teasing him. He's wearing dark brown jeans, boots, a cream-colored long sleeve shirt with intricate embroidery on it, and a brown leather vest all buttoned up. The leather is beautiful and smells fantastic. I want to unbutton it with my teeth. He's got a tiger's eye earring in one ear and a tiger's eye and leather thong necklace. He looks good enough to eat. 

"Thanks man, you're not half bad yourself." He's not teasing. He's smiling at me, but he's serious. Whoa. Another sound, another echo. Just right. "Let's go," he says softly. "I'm starved." And the way he's looking at me, I really think he just might be. 

"Go get the elevator, would you? I'll be right there," I answer, watching him carefully. "I'll lock up." I want to check the loft, make sure the CD player is set up and the candles are ready to be lit. Make sure there's wine chilling in the fridge and Blair's favorite dessert, cheesecake, is in there, too. I've planned ahead, you see. 

"Got it, big guy. Meet you there," he says, still smiling, and turns toward the door. 

I watch him walk to the door, watch that nice tight little butt. He pulls the door open, then turns around and looks at me. "You didn't forget to put that cheesecake in the fridge did you?" A sly little grin on his face. 

Oops, I'm busted. "How did you know I got cheesecake?" I answer, laughing a little. 

"I know everything, Jim," he says, softly. All I can do is watch him turn toward the elevator and I wonder what the hell did that mean? He keeps surprising me tonight. 

So I check the cheesecake, and yes, it is in the fridge. And someone, I'm guessing Blair, has taken out the wine I put in to chill, and replaced it with champagne. Well, hell. 

I walk out the door, locking it behind me, just as the bell dings on the elevator and the door slides open. Blair gets in, turns around and holds the door for me. "Where we going for dinner, man?" He's relaxed, casual, smiling at me. He looks so fucking good. 

I smile back, and say "Anywhere you want, Chief." I stand next to him, just a fraction closer than I usually would. Another sound sent out. And he leans in toward me, just a bit. I wouldn't have noticed if I wasn't watching for it, the echo, coming back. Perfect. We stand there while the elevator descends, almost touching, while my pulse pounds in my head, and Blair lists the advantages and disadvantages of pretty much every restaurant in Cascade. I just grin and watch him. 

"Well, Jim, what do you want?" he says. "Seafood? Steak? Italian? What sounds good to you?" 

What sounds good to me is plunging my hands into that hair, tipping his chin up just that slight bit, so his mouth is even with mine, and kissing his face. All of it. But I get myself under control just as he's about to ask again, and I say "Hmmm, seafood, crab legs, lobster, what do you say?" 

"Sounds good, man, seafood it is," he says, just as the door opens. I figure what the hell, let's see what happens. And as we start out of the elevator I put my hand on his back, right at his waist, and leave it there; under the leather vest. And his steps falter, just a tiny bit, when he feels my hand. But he recovers, and we head toward the outer door, him holding it open for me. He doesn't move away. 

"How about the Pier Fish House? I think that's probably the best seafood place in Cascade," I say. I'm rubbing my thumb in small circles on his back as we walk toward the truck. 

"That'd be great. Maybe we can go for a walk on the pier after. See if the fish are biting," he says, softly now, as he leans against me just a tiny bit. I'm not sure he's really talking about fish. And when we get to the truck, and he veers away to get in the passenger side, my hand comes away from his back, warm. And I can't wait to get it back there, preferably on bare skin. I curl my fingers into my palm to keep his warmth there for as long as possible. 

* * *

We have to wait over an hour for a table. It's a weekend and we didn't make reservations. So we sit in the bar and nurse a couple of beers, and talk over our week. And Blair doesn't make friends with the bartender, or flirt with any women, or go over and talk to someone he knows from God knows where. He sits with me, and we talk about the U., and the department and our friends. And finally, they call us; our table is ready. 

And we get a great table, not one near the windows, where anyone outside can see in and watch us. Those are only good tables in the daytime, when you want to watch the beach and the harbor from inside, out of the cold. The hostess leaves us with menus. "What are you gonna have, Jim?" he asks, already hidden behind the menu. 

"Hmmm. I'm thinking crab legs. What are you gonna have?" 

"Crab legs sounds great. Hey look, they've got Coctel de Camarones!" 

"What's that, Chief?" 

"Mexican shrimp cocktail, man, it's fantastic. They make it with tomatoes and onions and chiles and cilantro. We gotta have some. I haven't had it since that summer I spent in Baja." He's ginning at me now, over the top of the menu. His eyes are sparkling, just like I hoped. 

"Sounds great," I grin back at him. "They got Mexican beer here?" I ask him. 

"Hmmm, let's see, Dos Equis, Corona, Tecate, I'll have a Corona," he says to the waiter who has just appeared and introduced himself, like we're gonna take him home or something. "And two Coctel de Camarones," with the perfect Spanish inflection. I'm impressed. "You gotta have one Jim, if you don't like it, I'll eat it," he says, grinning at me now. 

"Okay, sounds good to me. I'll have a Corona too," I tell the waiter, "and the crab legs, with a baked potato with everything." 

"Crab legs for me, too," he says, turning his grin on the waiter, but just for a second, then he's handing over both the menus and leaning back in his chair as the waiter thanks us and turns away. Then he's back to smiling at me. "I'm glad we came here. Coctel de Camarones, man. Brings back memories." 

"So what exact memories do you have of Mexican shrimp cocktail, Chief?" I ask him, teasing a little. 

"Oooh, Cabo San Lucas, Jim. Sandy beach, crystal clear water, hot summer days, swimming and snorkeling, nights at the Giggling Marlin, dancing with the touristas from the cruise ships, fresh grilled fish tacos, shrimp cocktail, all the beer you can drink. Get up at noon, beer and huevos rancheros for breakfast at one and start all over again. Best summer of my life, man." He's half lost in memories. His eyes gazing somewhere over my shoulder. 

"Just exactly how old were you, Sandburg? You've never said anything about a summer in Mexico." I'm really sorry I missed out on that vacation. I'm already thinking about next summer, and Mexico, and Blair, tanned and rested, deep-sea fishing all day, making love on some deserted beach at night. I can hardly wait. 

"Hey, I was old enough," he grins back, "at least in Mexico I was old enough." 

"What were you doing down there? Did you go with Naomi?" 

"Jeeze, Jim, no way. You really think Naomi would let me have beer for breakfast?" He chuckles, shakes his head, thinking about that. "God, Jim, don't ever tell her that, she'll kill me. I kind of lied about where I was going. She thinks I was working in L.A. for the summer, staying with friends from Rainier. Well, I really was with friends from Rainier, we just weren't in L.A." He giggles a little, like he's embarrassed about lying to his mother. 

"I can't believe you lied to Naomi, Chief!" I'm a little shocked. As weird as he is sometimes, he's always been very mature and reliable. I just can't see it. I shake my head and laugh at him. "You still haven't told me how old you were," I remind him. 

"Hey, I was eighteen, man. At least I turned 18 while we were there. A bunch of us from school worked our asses off all spring semester, two or three part time jobs, and saved every penny we could. We rented a condo, split the rent six ways, and had the summer of a lifetime. Naomi still doesn't know where I learned to speak Spanish so well. Not that you really need to down there, most people speak English in the clubs and everywhere the tourists go. And you're not gonna tell her either!" 

"I won't tell, Chief," I promise. And then the waiter is back with the Coronas and the Coctel de Camarones, and a bowl of fresh lime wedges, and Blair's right, it's delicious. And so are the crab legs. 

Blair tells me about summers he's spent different places, Mexico, Portugal, even fucking Marakesh. The kid gets around. I tell him about back country trips to Canada, and Alaska, fishing and camping out for weeks. Places you have to have a float-plane to get you into and out of cause there aren't roads, only trails, and those are only big enough for wild game, not vehicles. And one summer in college that I worked in Oregon as a river rafting guide for tourists. He gets a kick out of that, me guiding. And the whole time I watch him. Watch the sparkle in his eyes, the corners crinkling up when he laughs. Watch the candlelight glitter off the tiger's eye stones, watch his hands, strong, square hands, moving, gesturing as he talks. And I notice he's watching me, instead of everyone else in the restaurant, like he usually does. He's watching only me. And soon the crab legs are gone and the baked potatoes too, and we're done. 

"Oh God, Jim, I'm stuffed. That was fantastic." He's leaning back from the table, grinning at me like the Cheshire cat, both our plates heaped with empty crab legs. 

"I think we could both use that walk down the pier," I say, grinning back at him and patting my stomach. "Work off some of that butter." I reach for the check what's-his-name left on the table, and Blair grabs it first. 

"No way, Jim, I'm paying tonight. You treated me tons of times when I was a broke student, now it's my turn." 

"OK, Chief, sounds good to me. Now that you have an actual paying job and all," I tease him a little. "I'll leave the tip." 

"Deal, man. Let's hit the pier." And he slides out of the booth and heads to the front of the restaurant. I throw some bills on the table and follow him. 

* * *

Blair comes out after paying the check; I'm waiting outside for him, leaning against the railing at the side of the pier. The restaurant is actually sitting on the pier, closer to the land end. Blair walks over, standing close to me. Right where I want him. It's cool tonight, the sky is clear, lots of stars out, and no clouds to hold in the heat of the day. "Is it too cold out here for you?" I ask him. I know he's always cold. 

"Naw, man. Let's walk out to the end. See if anyone's fishing tonight." We turn toward the end of the pier, and walk close to the railing. It's dark by now, there's no wind tonight, and the tide is out, the surf just barely splashing up onto the sand, the tops of the little waves are silver in the moonlight, moon low on the horizon. Blair stays tucked right next me. I can feel his body heat. He's quiet as we walk toward the end of the pier, his head tilted back, looking up at the sky. "I always wanted a telescope when I was a kid," he says quietly. "Naomi thought it was too much to lug around everywhere we went, so I never had one." I don't say anything, but I'm thinking not so nice thoughts about Naomi. "I always checked the constellations, whenever we would move, see if they were the same," he says, chuckling a little. "There weren't too many constants in my life as a kid." 

"No kidding, Chief," I answer back. "You know, I've got a telescope, upstairs in the closet. Haven't had it out in years. We could get it out this weekend, if you want." 

"Really? That'd be great, Jim. Do you think we can put it on the roof?" He's grinning at me, and bouncing a little now, like an excited kid. 

"Sure, we can put it on the roof, but we'll take it camping next time we go. No light pollution out away from the city. You can see a lot more that way." I'm liking watching him bouncing, happy. We're at the end of the pier now. He leans forward over the railing, looking down at the black water washing around the pylons. I stand beside him, close. And I put my hand on his back again. Make those little circles with my thumb. And he leans into me, warm and solid against me. And stays there. Another sound, another echo. 

"That'd be great," he says, softly, face turned back to the sky. 

We stand there a while; watching the small boats anchored at the brightly lit marina across the bay, and a larger one, a cargo ship, out past the bay, in the open ocean. I can hear the low hum of its engines, can smell the salt in the air, and diesel from the boats, creosote on the wood of the pier and food smells from the restaurant, and the leather of Blair's vest. And Blair. I can smell Blair, warm and earthy. He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. "You okay?" I ask. "Cold?" 

"No, man. Not cold at all." I've still got my hand on his back, and I move it to his side, pull him against me a little tighter. And he doesn't pull away. "It's nice here. Quiet and peaceful," he says as he takes hold of my hand that's on his waist and squeezes it. And keeps holding it. Another echo. And it is nice here, so we stay. Him watching the stars, and the little waves, me watching him. He's relaxed, and calm. I don't see him like this often enough, just being with me, instead of constantly being on the move, a blur of sound and motion, light and scent. 

So we stand there like that, for a while longer. And there are other couples on the pier, doing what we're doing, but everyone just kind of politely ignores everyone else. And the cargo ship moves on past, and another one is going past the opposite way, now, and the moon's a little lower on the horizon. It's time to send another sound his way. "Blair?" I whisper, my face next to his hair. I wiggle my fingers that he's holding, till mine are tangled with his. Wrap my arm around his waist, tight, and pull him back against me, his back against my chest, my face tipped down near his. He comes, languidly, willingly, sighing, into my arms, both of them around his waist now, holding him close. He leans back against me, tilts his head to the side till it rests against mine, rubs his cheek against mine, holding my arms around him. And he fits perfectly here. Warm and solid and real. And then it happens. 

"Jim..." Just a whisper. I put my hand against his cheek, and turn his face back towards mine. He looks at me for a moment, waiting. "Yes..." he whispers, eyes dark, smiling a little, telling me what I need to know. Telling me he wants this, too. I lower my head, just that necessary little bit, and brush my lips over his, barely touching, watching him watching me. And as he parts his lips and closes his eyes, he turns in my arms, takes my face in his hands, and kisses me back. 

Oh, Jesus. I've never been kissed before, if this is what kissing is. His mouth moves against mine, warm and soft, wet and hungry, licking at my lips, wanting in. So I open my mouth, and he's there, tongue sliding against mine, taste exploding, buttery and Blair. He's holding my face, and talking while he kisses me. Who else but Blair could talk and kiss at the same time? 

"God, Jim," he licks my lower lip, "so long, man," he whispers against my mouth, plunges his tongue in, then slips it out again, "so goddamn long I've wanted this," he says, sucking my lower lip gently now, "so goddamn long I've waited," and his tongue slips back in my mouth, slick and demanding. I've got one arm around his waist, and one hand buried in his hair, and I can't breath. And he's right; it's been way too goddamn long we've waited. 

So we stand there, kissing and necking like teenagers, till he lays his face against my shoulder, wraps his arms tight around my waist and squeezes me, hard. 

"Blair...." 

"Yeah?" He whispers to my shoulder. 

"How long?" I whisper into his hair. 

"Just about forever, man." 

I pull back a little and tip his chin up so I can see his face. "So why did this take so long?" I'm surprised. 

"I had to wait till you loved me back." Like it should be perfectly obvious. And I can see in his face that it's true, he does love me. And my heart does a little lurch in my chest. 

"God, Blair...." 

"It's okay Jim. It was worth the wait," whispering to me, his mouth moving against my cheek. 

"How did you know I fell in love with you?" My mouth is right next to his ear. This is hard enough to say without him looking at me. 

"You told me." Perfectly obvious, again, sucking my neck. 

"I did?" 

"Sure you did." Licking right below my ear. 

"When?" I suck in a gasping breath as he bites gently, just under my jaw. 

"For weeks man, you've been telling me for weeks, you just didn't use words." He's sucking gently on my neck now, and I can feel him smiling. 

He'd heard me all along. 

* * *

So we kiss awhile longer, and then we go home, necking in the truck, kissing on the front stairs of the building, and in the elevator. And when we get inside the loft I unbutton his leather vest with my teeth, though it takes awhile, and he laughs at me, a lot, but I don't mind, and soon I'm laughing too. And we light the candles, and drink the champagne in bed. And we make love. Slow, and hot and necessary. And when he comes inside me, I hold him tight, and whisper into his hair "I love you Blair, love you, love you, love you...." and he hears me, and he says it back. 

And after we both get our breath back, grin at each other like idiots, and hold each other for a minute, Blair jumps up and runs down the stairs, naked, and brings the whole cheesecake upstairs, with two forks stuck in the top of it. And he says, grinning at me, "Hey man, just cause we're already upstairs in bed is no reason to pass up a good cheesecake." And he's right. So we feed each other cheesecake and drink the rest of the champagne. And I get up the nerve to ask if he really was singing to me in the shower, and he says, laughing softly, his mouth against my neck, "Yeah, man, for weeks now, didn't you hear me?" 

* * *

End Echo by Pink Dragon: pinkdragon456@aol.com

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


End file.
